The Animal Stars Collection

by Jackie French

  Every dish smelt better than the one before and all were served on plates of gold. Somehow my Queen seemed to know just what I would like best.

  Finally, when I felt that if I ate another mouthful my tummy would go pop, the dishes were taken away. Some went out the door, but most went to the other table where my Queen’s people waited. They began to eat our leftovers now…

  …as more dishes arrived! Just as many as before! This time there were no big roasts, but more custards (which I decided I liked, even though you couldn’t chew them) and plates of dates and small sweet rolls of chicken that were the best things I had ever eaten. There were cheesecakes, which felt funny on my tongue, and celery, which I spat out, and a pig’s head…

  ‘Woof,’ I said, because the pig was staring at me. But it didn’t even blink. And it tasted good when Master Curle carved me a slice from its cheek.

  My Queen tried to feed me a little quince, too, in a spiced sauce. But it made my teeth ache and I couldn’t get the taste away, no matter how I shook my head. I looked at my Queen, spooning it up with a funny spoon with two small prongs, and wondered how she could bear it.

  I ate a leg of pigeon then, and a gulp of bread wet with all the gravy, while my Queen ate tiny fruits—except they weren’t, for when I sniffed one I found that they were made of nuts and not really fruit at all…

  This time my Queen signalled that the dishes she didn’t want were to be taken to the lower table even before we had finished eating the bits we wanted.

  All the time we ate, one or other of my Queen’s men played the lute and sang, and when one finished another took his place. It was all so different from a dog’s dinner—not just the spread of rich and different food, but spending so much time eating, instead of gulping your meal down. There were long times when no one ate at all, even though the food was just sitting there on the table. They laughed or talked or listened to the music. It was not the way a dog would have done it.

  But it was good. Not just the food, or the laughing company, but the fact that I was with my Queen. It was all so good I hated to leave any of it. But my belly felt like I’d swallowed a bull, horns and all. Finally the last of the dishes were taken away. We went back to the inner rooms. I was glad my Queen carried me, for I was afraid my tummy would drag on the ground.

  I was sick of food, I decided, staring at the flickering fire and listening to my tummy gurgling. I would never eat again!

  I waddled out to the privy chamber, where my Queen’s dresses hung by the privy hole, and was sick behind the door. It would have been easier to bring it up if I’d had some grass to eat. But there was none around.

  I waddled back and waited while my Queen bent and lifted me up. (I was much too full of food to jump.) I felt her fingers rub my ears, then she picked up her embroidery and began to sew again. I sat on her lap and thought mournfully of all the meals I would never want to eat again.

  The noises of the manor grew still. Even the sentries outside were quiet.

  It was as though the manor were another world now, with everyone asleep, just me and my Queen and Jane and Mistress Elizabeth and Barbara Curle and Master Curle and Master Nau, her favourite people, and the far-off footsteps of the sentries outside.

  My Queen put down her embroidery.

  ‘Master Curle…’ she said softly, and without her saying any more Master Curle fetched paper and a long feather.

  I pricked up my ears. This was different. I had never seen anything like this during the afternoons. What was happening?

  Barbara Curle tiptoed to the door. She stood there listening for noise from the hallway.

  ‘Yes, Madam?’ Master Curle dipped the end of his feather into a small pot. ‘A letter to your cousin, Her Majesty?’

  ‘No. No matter how many times I plead, my dear cousin will never let me go.’ My Queen frowned. ‘A letter to my cousin the Duc de Guise tonight, I think. He has to speak to Henri. Surely Elizabeth must act if the French King speaks for me…He did not even acknowledge my last letter, do you know?’

  ‘The same cipher as before, Madam?’

  ‘Yes.’ My Queen smiled. ‘I am sure my cousin’s spies have not worked it out yet. The less Elizabeth and her advisors know the better. No! No, make this letter to Henri himself.’ She thought for a moment then went on, ‘Write: To my Most Christian Majesty, My Brother-in-Law and Old Friend, who has always protested your Love for Me, Once more I Appeal to you from my Prison to give me Proof of Your Kindness…’

  Her hands stroked me as she spoke. It was as though she drew comfort from my warmth. She kept on speaking to Master Curle while he scribbled with the feather. I listened to her voice, and to the muttering of my tummy.

  And finally my tummy settled down. I found myself dreaming of dinner tomorrow and supper too, meal after wonderful meal, all with my Queen…and then a beetle wandered across the floor. I slid off my Queen’s lap and grabbed it before it could get away, and I discovered I felt hungry after all.

  I crunched it happily. Turkey and sauce were all very well, but nothing crunches like a beetle.

  The candles flickered in their sconces, so many it was almost as bright as day, except that there were more shadows.

  I scrambled up onto her lap again. It grew so late I dozed, there on her lap, with her hands still warming themselves on my fur. But finally, when the cuckoo was singing his first notes outside the window and the candles had burnt low, she stroked my nose with her finger.

  ‘Bedtime,’ she said. She lifted me in her arms—I was still half asleep—and carried me into the room next door.

  I had never been there before. I perked up and stared around. There was a bed, far bigger even than the smith’s bed, which had been the biggest I had ever seen. I supposed it had to be a big bed, for a tall woman like my Queen. It was on a dais too, like her chair, and it too had a canopy of red and gold.

  There was a fireplace, with apple wood burning, which made the room smell sweet. There were carpets on the floor and on the walls here too, and glass in the windows and a clothes rack with clothes warming by the fire. There was a stool, too, and a smaller bed, and another door. I could smell the hot strong scent of the privy room beyond, and the sweet scent my Queen left on her clothes.

  My Queen put me down near the fire, then sat on the stool. I lay with my tummy on the warm stone hearth and watched.

  First Jane lifted off my Queen’s hair. I had never realised that humans could take off their hair before. It seemed silly to me—humans’ hair has most of their best smell, except the bit around their bum that humans try to hide in clothes. You’d think they never liked to smell each other.

  Anyway, after the hair, Jane and Mistress Curle took off the overdress, and then the sleeves, and then an underdress, and more clothes after that. The layers were good, because each one gave me a gust of the good scent of my Queen. They took the shoes next, and the garters and the stockings.

  The shoes were left by the fire (I thought of chewing on them, then thrust the thought away). The other clothes were taken next door, where the smell of the privy gave everything a lovely scent of my Queen.

  Mistress Curle took the warm nightclothes from the rack and lowered them onto my Queen, then buttoned them, while Jane shovelled hot coals into a long pan and rubbed the pan between the bed sheets to warm them.

  Then she pulled out a pot. It was made of gold, with black velvet around the rim. My Queen squatted on it. That was really interesting. I got up to have a closer smell, but Jane picked me up and gave me a little shake. ‘Bad dog,’ she said.

  I blinked. What had I done? And it was too late now to smell any further, for my Queen had finished and Mistress Curle had taken the pot out to the garderobe.

  But some of the smell lingered, so I knew what my Queen had done. It was a good smell, a combination of everything we had eaten and a bit more besides. I wished Mistress Curle had left the pot, to make the room smell even more strongly of my Queen.

  My Queen sat on the bed and held out her arm
s for me. I scrambled out of Jane’s hands and ran to my Mistress.

  ‘You want the dog to stay?’ said Jane. She sounded astonished, and disapproving too. ‘I’m sure he’d be happier downstairs.’

  ‘Grrrf,’ I said to Jane, from my spot in the Queen’s arms.

  ‘Folly will sleep with me,’ said my Queen.

  And so I did.

  Jane blew out the candles and lay down in the small bed across the room. My Queen lay on her pillows for a while, still holding me close. She didn’t speak, but I knew by her breathing that she was awake. Finally a small snore came from Jane.

  ‘Grrf,’ I said again in Jane’s direction.

  My Queen stroked my ears. ‘No, don’t growl at her,’ she said. ‘Jane may not be fond of small dogs, but she is as brave as you. When I was imprisoned on an island at Lochleven she helped disguise me as a servant. She jumped from the tower window to help me escape. Her ankle swelled, but she still helped Willie Douglas row the boat. She rode with me for three days and nights without sleep, raising an army to restore me to my throne. We ate oats without bread and drank sour milk…’

  Her voice trailed away. She glanced over at sleeping Jane, then back at me. ‘We lost the battle, Folly. But Jane was with me all the time. Jane is loyal to her Queen, and fierce as any watchdog to those who might hurt her.’

  She snuggled into her pillows, still with me in her arms. ‘So many love the Queen,’ she said, ‘and hate her too. I had three husbands, Folly. And only one loved me. The others loved my throne. Both of them betrayed me, took other women, abused me, struck me, tried to take the throne. Perhaps you’re the only one who loves the woman now. It doesn’t matter to you if I am Queen or not.’ She kissed my nose, then put me down beside her and rolled over on her pillows.

  I will always be with you now, I thought. We will never be parted again.

  I slept with my warm body next to hers. And finally I knew that I was where I was always meant to be.

  CHAPTER 14

  My Queen Plans and I Help Her

  The Manor, Spring and Summer 1584

  ‘Freedom,’ said my Queen. Her face glowed in the light of the fire.

  I yawned. I was ready for bed, to curl up in the freshly ironed sheets that smelt of lavender. Sometimes I liked the pillow end, and sometimes I liked to sleep on my Queen’s feet.

  ‘Not just freedom,’ said Master Nau softly. ‘This plan will get your Scottish throne back too. Shared with your son. Philip of Spain and Henri of France will become allies of a Catholic Scotland if your son agrees to share the throne with you. How can King James resist an offer like that?’

  ‘My son…’ My Queen’s voice grew soft. ‘He has to agree to let me rule with him! He must!’

  ‘Surely he will, Madam. Surely no son would see his mother kept a prisoner so long.’

  My Queen bit her lip. ‘I wonder what he is like now, my little son. The only portrait that I have is of a baby. He was only ten months old when I left him. He will be eighteen soon! Old enough to be King himself, instead of having the Scots lords rule for him. Old enough to make his own decisions.’

  ‘And may yet turn to the True Faith!’

  My Queen laughed. ‘The Scottish regents will be furious. All their cursed Protestant teachings ignored. And Elizabeth will be outmanoeuvred! If I am on the throne with my son then she will have no choice but to free me and name us both her heirs. Who else does she have to leave her throne to?’ Her voice grew serious. ‘I think this plan will work, Master Nau. But we must keep up the pressure on Philip and Henri. Without their support James has no reason to share his throne with me.’

  ‘You are his mother, Madam!’

  ‘And the Scots lords tell him I killed his father. How can he not believe them, when there is no one to tell him otherwise? Poor Darnley. Poor, silly, arrogant Darnley. I can pity him, now that I no longer need to fear or hate him. He wanted my crown, not me. Or his baby son.’ My Queen was silent a moment, as though she were far away. ‘My little son…’ she whispered. ‘Almost a man now. Have they tried to make you hate me?’ And then her chin went up again. ‘It’s vital that our true purpose be concealed from Elizabeth’s agents. Master Nau, take down a letter to the French ambassador…Mistress Curle, make sure no one can hear…’

  Elizabeth Curle moved to listen at the door while my Queen continued, ‘Tell the ambassador that sending letters to me written in invisible alum ink is no longer safe. Instead, tell him to send any letters to me hidden in the heels of new shoes…’

  ‘What think you of invisible writing between the lines of books, Madam? No one would look for secret messages there.’

  ‘Excellent! Let us say, on pages four, eight, twelve and sixteen. We will put a green ribbon in any book where there’s a message…’

  I yawned again. I was glad my Queen was happy. I wondered if I should go to the privy chamber yet. Jane kept a basket of straw in there for me to use, now that I spent all my time with my Queen. These days it almost seemed as though I had lived my whole life indoors.

  Sometimes—just sometimes—I’d smell the scent of deer on the breeze from the window, or a waft of new-mown hay. A longing would seize me to run in the meadows again, to snuffle out the smells under the hedges.

  There were badgers out there (whatever badgers were), and rabbits to chase…but in here there was my Queen.

  ‘Send this letter like the others, floated in a barrel of beer,’ my Queen was saying. ‘And remember to put it in code…’

  ‘Of course, Madam.’

  She smiled again. ‘No, you would not forget. What would I do without you, Master Nau, and my other loyal people too?’

  ‘Woof,’ I said. I meant ‘Come to bed.’

  The Queen laughed. ‘And my loyal dog as well. Call Jane and Mistress Curle, Master Nau. That is enough conspiring for one night.’

  ‘The letter will go with the brewer tomorrow, Madam.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she said softly. ‘How many tomorrows till I am Queen in truth again, not just in name?’

  CHAPTER 15

  How the Queen and I Come to Tutbury

  The Manor Tutbury Castle August 1584 to December 1585

  Summer was ending. The breeze from the open window smelt of wheat dust from the harvest in the fields outside, and of the mice that hid from the men and scythes.

  The Queen and I had been to Buxton, where my Queen could bathe in the hot springs. (My job was to guard her clothes while she bathed. Jane and Mistress Curle helped me.)

  Our privies had been cleaned out while we were away at Buxton. I missed the good rich smell. But there were other good scents as I lay on my Queen’s lap in our big room: the memories of our dinner (pig’s ears in jelly and a blancmange, which was chicken cut up small with cream and almonds, and a green goose and some pigeons too).

  There was the scent of spices, for a new shipment of luxuries had come from my Queen’s agent in France. There was the strange hair smell of my Queen’s new wig and gold embroidery silks, and things called suckets, all sweet with a spice smell underneath, which my Queen and her ladies chewed, but which I did not like at all.

  They were chewing on these now and weaving their needles in and out, which seemed to be a thing that they could do most of the day while they talked or sang or read things to my Queen.

  Suddenly a fly landed on my nose. I opened my eyes and snapped at it. I could have caught it if I’d really wanted to. But I was full from midday dinner.

  ‘Woof,’ I said, to warn it to keep its distance. It flew away. I was regretting that I hadn’t caught it now. I was bored. I wondered if my Queen felt like throwing a ball of wool for me to fetch. Fléance and Douceur would come up from the kitchens soon, too. Perhaps they might like to play. I always liked to be on my Queen’s lap when the spaniels arrived, so that I could look down on them.

  I sighed. It wasn’t likely. Fléance’s scent had not been good lately. He smelt like he was in pain.

  ‘Woof?’ I said.

  My Queen
held up her embroidery for me to look at. ‘See, Folly? It’s a new cushion cover for you.’

  ‘Woof,’ I said. I didn’t understand what she was talking about. But I knew it pleased her if I answered.

  Mistress Curle peered at the design. ‘It’s Queen Elizabeth!’ she cried. ‘Madam, how perfect! Queen Elizabeth’s face on a cat with bright red hair.’

  ‘A cat who likes to play with her poor mouse,’ said my Queen. ‘And my dog’s bottom will sit on her face once more…Yes?’ she added, to Master Pages, who had approached.

  ‘It is the Earl of Shrewsbury, Madam.’

  ‘As if any other earl might visit me. Yes, yes, we will see him.’

  The Earl bowed as he entered. He was wearing new stockings, all tight about his legs. (Old stockings got saggy at the knees, just tempting you to tug them. But my Queen didn’t like it when I did that. There were so many interesting things humans didn’t like to do…) My Queen held out her hand to him. The fingers were more swollen these days when they stroked my fur.

  The Earl bowed again, over her hand. ‘As always your work is exquisite, Madam.’

  My Queen placed it on the stool beside her. ‘I have had sixteen years to perfect my sewing, my Lord. I assure you, it is little enough to occupy me when I would fain be ruling a kingdom.’

  ‘Madam…Madam, I have some news.’

  ‘I see. Please sit, my Lord.’

  Jane brought him a stool. He sat, while my Queen’s people moved further away.

  ‘Madam, I regret…I must tell you that you are to be moved from my custody. They say I am too indulgent to you. That I give you too much freedom. That you have charmed me as you charm so many others.’ He bit his lip. ‘I am afraid they may be right, Madam.’

  ‘I’m to go from here?’ My Queen’s voice was loud enough for the others to hear, but they pretended that they had not. ‘To what place, my Lord?’

  The Earl went red and looked at the carpet. ‘To Wingfield, and then to Tutbury Castle, Madam.’